


Araignée Provocateur

by zoldyckstripshow



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: BDSM, Choking, Cock Rings, Daddy Kink Jokes, Deep Throating, Dirty Talk, Escort Service, Financial Domination, HxH Big Bang, M/M, Money kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Work, hxhbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldyckstripshow/pseuds/zoldyckstripshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrollo has worked his way to the top as the most expensive and renowned escort in York New. Men wave cash in his face for a chance to touch him, and he's earned the right to be picky with his clients. It’s a little boring. His interest is piqued when he faces an unexpected challenge – someone who isn’t begging to lick his boots clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey all! so this is my contribution to the hxhbb. please check the tags to make sure you're ok with all the content, because it is _very_ explicit. 
> 
> thank you to [princequeerdeer](http://princequeerdeer.tumblr.com/post/145775534239/my-art-for-the-hxh-big-bang-i-totally) and [giraffinginthedark](http://giraffinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/145496174678/thank-you-so-much-zoldyckstripshow-for-writing) for their beautiful artwork!
> 
> enjoy! :3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 飲み会 (のみかい / nomikai) is a traditional japanese drinking party for coworkers and their bosses. 
> 
> also, it might be worth noting that jenny hold the same value as the japanese yen, so just subtract two 0's to get a rough estimate in USD. 
> 
> ex:  
> 50,000 jenny = $500  
> 500,000 jenny = $5000  
> 5,000,000 jenny = $50,000

Chrollo’s hands gripped the sheets tightly, silken threads sliding through his fingers as his client rammed into him from behind. His back was bowed, ass in the air, and he moaned wantonly into a pillow, letting his whole body shudder. His client wasn’t that good, of course, but complaining wasn’t in his job description. Instead, he made up for the lackluster performance with a riveting performance of his own, full of daredevil positions and lewd bedroom talk. He should really win an Oscar for it.

Craning his neck to look behind him, Chrollo watched with bemusement as his client’s face scrunched up, and the thrusts became more reckless. He let his mouth fall open and reached a hand down to stroke himself, images of his favorite porn stars hot in his mind, bringing him closer. The less he had to fake, the better. He cracked an eye open, and, sensing that the iron was hot, let sinful encouragements tumble past his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Ah – your cock feels – so – good – cum for me, please, I want to feel your milky cum fill me up, please –”

That did it. His client pressed in one last time, hilting himself completely, and he gave a tiny grunt of appreciation.

Chrollo let his cheek slide against the silk sheets and thought about the thread count. In the high thousands, it felt like, and from this brand, and this bed size, they must be worth a fortune – he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his thumb over the head of his own cock, drawing his orgasm forth in a mess of panting and swearing.

His client collapsed on top of him, pulling out with a _squick_. He didn’t even bother taking the condom off as he laid there, his calloused hands tracing the sharp edges of Chrollo’s shoulder blades.

Chrollo waited a few minutes for the sake of politeness. He allowed his client to pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him, praising him for being so sweet and sexy and borderline worshipping his asshole. It was flattering, but also unnecessary. He knew how good he was.

When the appropriate amount of time had passed, Chrollo bit his lip, trying to look regretful. His client got the message and rolled to the side, his beady brown eyes watching as Chrollo got dressed, leather pants sticking to his skin and leaving nothing to the imagination.

There was rustling behind him, and he had to hide a smile. This was his favorite part.

His client counted out the bills for him: a solid 100,000 Jenny, on top of the 50,000 initial down payment.

The familiar feel of cash in his hands was absolutely intoxicating. If money were a liquid, he would get drunk on it every night, probably landing himself in the hospital from overdosing. It would be the best possible way to die.

“Sorry about the sheets.” Chrollo laid on the charm while he said it, batting his thick eyelashes. His client stumbled over his words as he hastened to reassure him that it was fine, he shouldn’t trouble himself over a set of sheets. They were only worth a few hundred thousand Jenny, after all; he could just buy new ones.

A tiny tingle of excitement ran down Chrollo’s spine at the mention of their worth. The sheets had felt so good, like spun gold, achingly luxurious. Now, they were soiled with his cum and sweat.

There was still plenty of clean space on the other side of the bed, though, and he already missed the feel of such exquisite fabric on his skin. Chrollo hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of allowing another round just to touch them again. The cash payout would also be in his benefit. But no, his client was spent, and he didn’t want to exercise the effort to get him up again. It was simply too much work. Decision made, Chrollo turned on his heel, letting the door shut silently in his wake as he headed down to the lobby, hand in his pocket, rubbing the cash between his fingers.

150,000 was a long way from when he’d first started out, taking what he could get, which was usually around 30,000. But as he built up his confidence and made connections in the business world, his clientele expanded, and men started coming to _him_ , instead of the other way around. Eventually, he’d gotten to the point where he could afford to turn men down, picking and choosing the ones that treated him kindly or had wallets deeper than the ocean. There was also a running blacklist among some of his other friends in the industry – a list of local men who were absolutely not to be trusted, since they had records of abuse, skipping payments, coercion, or untreated STIs.

His client tonight was one of the better ones. He hadn’t asked for anything strenuous or anything, and he’d paid the deposit without question. The hotel they had visited wasn’t too shabby, either, and a 150,000 Jenny payout was nothing to scoff at, but he knew he could do better. There just weren’t a lot of businessmen in the area this time of year. Everyone was traveling the world for meetings and auctions.

He gave a cheerful wave to the receptionist as he walked by. He’d done this song and dance enough to know how to act in public after work, and no one had ever given him so much as a second glance. At least, not with suspicion. People did double-takes and triple-takes all the time. He supposed, in addition to his modelesque good looks, the tattoo on his forehead drew a fair amount of attention. It was an inky purple cross, something he’d gotten on a whim when he first started working in the sex industry. The symbolism served as an ironic reminder of his deeply Catholic familial roots. Though he’d left the church of his own volition as a teenager, he still found its imagery and historical significance enrapturing.

His clients liked it, too, and it was always a good conversation starter when he was out trying to rile up some business, so the whole thing was a win-win.

The cool, winter air washed over him, rife with the smell of car exhaust and smoke. He wrinkled his nose. Living in the city offered some of the most beautiful views and expensive boutiques, but damn if it wasn’t disgusting, sometimes. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself and headed back to their apartment.

///

“Hey, I’m back,” he called, stepping out of his shoes and padding through the hall. It was pleasantly warm inside. Feitan got cold easily, and if he wasn’t plastered to Phinks’ side like a housecat, he would just crank the thermostat, instead.

A small cheer came from the living room, welcoming him home. Phinks and Feitan were lounging on the sectional couch with the TV blaring. There was a bottle of wine on the table between them and a plate of cheese and crackers but it didn’t look like they’d made a dent in anything yet.

More interestingly, they were both in intricate lingerie sets, their body types heavily juxtaposed while they munched on the crackers. Feitan’s slim frame was in some sort of leather harness, his thigh-high stockings held up by a separate chain garter. Phinks’ more muscular build was in an obnoxious lime green babydoll made of see-through mesh. Typical. He always had to have color in his wardrobe.

“The Agent Provocateur stuff came in. Yours is on the counter.” Feitan pointed a spindly finger.

Chrollo’s heart skipped, and he ran his fingers over the box, reveling in the soft matte finish. AP even took pride in their packaging. Well, for the price, they’d better. He popped the box open, unfolding the present within. It was an elaborate bodysuit, black lace straps and feather-light transparent fabric. The whole piece reeked of extravagance.

Phinks appeared at his side in an instant. “Try it on, boss.”

“I don’t think you have enough one-dollar bills for a show, Phinxy,” he teased.

“He’s right. We haven’t stripped in months,” Feitan chimed in, crunching down on another cracker.

“And I thank God every day we haven’t had to,” Phinks muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Chrollo said, rubbing the exquisite fabric of the playsuit between his fingers. “I don’t normally strip for free, but for you… maybe just this once.”

Chrollo unbuttoned his shirt for the second time that day, letting it float to the floor, and started working at his pants. He wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. Phinks and Feitan had seen – and experienced – all of him before, so it wasn’t like he had anything to hide.

The three of them had been roommates for the past year, having met at a kink club and hitting it off instantly. Phinks and Feitan worked as camboys and occasionally starred in a porn film, but made most of their money online, with video requests and roleplaying scenes. With their combined income, they could afford a good-sized apartment in one of the nicer parts of town, and with York New’s sky high cost of living, that was no small feat.

Feitan wandered over to watch, nuzzling under Phinks’ arm, his favorite place to occupy. He was endearingly tiny and it suited him. When Chrollo was completely undressed, he stepped into the body suit and gently tugged it up over his chest, to fasten in the back. It clung to his body, emphasizing every curve of muscle, and even without a mirror, he could tell this was a good purchase.

Phinks and Feitan seemed to think so too. “You got the sizing right, that’s for sure. It looks good.” Phinks said. Chrollo did a little spin, arching his back so his ass stuck out a little more, stretching the fabric just _so_.

“Your next client is going to blow a gasket.” Feitan remarked.

“He would’ve blown a gasket, regardless,” Chrollo reached for a cracker, stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Your client was the CEO of Padokea Associatons, right? He never seemed like he earned that position.” Phinks frowned, eating a slice of cheese from their snack platter.

“Oh, he definitely didn’t. He participated in a lot of illicit bank schemes and secret meetings to kick out the previous CEO for falsified bank fraud.”

“Smart. Did he ask you for anything weird? Like that one guy,” Feitan snickered, “Like that guy who wanted to do a golden shower while he was in a full suit of latex?”

Chrollo made a face. “I thought we agreed to never bring that up again. No, he didn’t. He just wanted normal, vanilla sex.”

“You must’ve been bored. You’re the least vanilla person I’ve ever met. Besides myself, of course.” Feitan made a quadruple-decker stack of cheese and crackers, shoving the creation into his mouth effortlessly. Chrollo sometimes wondered if he’d figured out how to literally unhinge his jaw to accommodate the impossibly large things he was always so hell-bent on consuming.

“It pays the bills. I’m still waiting for a good-looking whale who can get us a penthouse and a selection of sports cars. Ideally, he’d also give me a credit card.”

“Another credit card? Hisoka gives you his all the time.” Feitan said, standing to wash the plate off and toss the empty cracker box into the trash.

Hisoka was one of Chrollo’s regular clients. He was especially infatuated with Chrollo, and always found time in his busy schedule to allow a play date when he was in town, taking a break from his (incredibly lucrative) job as a professional fighter. The one downside to their symbiotic relationship was Hisoka’s chronic unavailability. He was never in the same place for more than a few days.

“Why have one credit card when you can have two? Or three? Or ten?” Chrollo replied. He was suddenly hit with another pang of hunger and he wilted a little.

“I can hear your stomach from here, boss. Get some food. I think we still have leftover sandwiches in the fridge.” Phinks stretched his arms, almost tearing the lingerie as he moved. It was clearly a size or two too small, but he didn’t seem to mind.  

Feitan returned to Phinks’ side, picking something off a fingernail. “We should go out tonight.”

“We went out yesterday, though.” Phinks glanced at their (rather extensive) liquor collection in the kitchen. “Shouldn’t we save money and use up what we have?”

Feitan scoffed. “If we find extra clients, then we’ll make quadruple what we’ll spend.”

“…true.” Phinks begrudgingly agreed. “But if we go where I think we’re going, we might not get any clients _and_ pay an arm and a leg for overpriced alcohol.” He looked to Chrollo, the swing vote, for the final verdict.

They were talking about, of course, the Avenue, a plush lounge atop one of York New’s most expensive hotels. Bottle service could run a tab of over 100,000 Jenny, easily, and it was always packed to the brim with debauchery and lots of competition. Many of the city’s wealthiest men spent their evenings there, looking for someone to take home, and with so many other competitors, it could be hard to snag some alone time with one to convince them you were worth their money. Still, Chrollo was nothing if not convincing. Many of them knew him by reputation, now, so it usually only took a wink and some gentle petting to get a paying client.

He pretended to be deep in thought for a moment. It was a no-brainer – he was in the mood to go fishing, and maybe he could try out his new outfit with someone, for an extra tip.

“We’re going, aren’t we?” Feitan read his face, grinning widely. Chrollo nodded.

“Let me wash up first, though. He left his cologne on me.”

Phinks huffed. “So that means we have to get dressed, huh? Fuck. This is so comfortable. It lets air in all the right places.”

Chrollo retreated to his bedroom, removing the lingerie and folding it up neatly again. Wrinkles were a no-no. His bathroom, a neatly organized collection of hair products, high-end makeup and skin care items, was a welcome sight, with instantly heated shower water.

He scrubbed himself down, making sure to rinse off his ass with a gentle vegan soap, so as not to irritate anything. Was it Phinks or Feitan who had given him that essential hoe tip? He wasn’t sure, but it had changed his life for the better. He always smelled like orchids and his skin never got dried out anymore.

Running the razor over his skin for a quick touch-up, he decided it might be best to wash his hair, too, in case he woke up in someone else’s bed tomorrow morning. Gelled hair never looked the same on day two.

Once everything was squeaky clean and soft with conditioner, he stepped out of the shower, towel drying himself as best he could. In the living room, he could hear Phinks and Feitan arguing playfully about what they wanted to wear, and how couple-y they wanted to appear. Sometimes, they worked independently, and sometimes they were a packaged deal – clients ate them up either way, but there was a potential for extra income if they acted separately. Chrollo guessed tonight would be an “every man for himself” night.

Just as well.

He ran a brush through his hair, letting it fall into his face, and mixed some liquid highlighter with a moisturizer for a natural glow on his skin. A few pencil strokes later, his eyebrows were filled in, and he added a touch of eyeliner to polish his eyes off. Some days, he would add false eyelashes and contour his face, but that was for shows or events, when he had a client who wanted some seriously androgynous eye candy.

Blowing a kiss at himself in the mirror, he went to get dressed, finding a clean pair of leather pants with a snakeskin pattern and opting to go commando. He donned a silky black button up, undoing the top few buttons to let his pale skin peek through, and sprayed on his favorite Tom Ford perfume, Black Orchid, as the finishing touch.

When he returned to the living room, Phinks and Feitan were ready to leave, in their own semi-formal ensembles. Chrollo made sure he had his wallet, some condoms, and a tiny bottle of lube, just in case, and let them know he was good to go.

“I have a good feeling about tonight.” Feitan said, in what was, for him, a cheerful tone. To the uninitiated, it sounded deadpan, but they all knew better.

“Yeah? Lucky. I feel like I’m gonna get wasted and get stuck with some Splenda douchebag.” Phinks sighed, combing his fingers through his hair while they made their way down to the street. Chrollo waved an arm in the air to hail a cab, and he turned to his friends, smiling.

“I agree with Feitan. I think something good is going to happen tonight.”

“Two against one. Stop being a downer, Phinks.” Feitan’s thin eyebrows arched playfully.

Phinks grumbled with annoyance. “Whatever. Just make sure you withhold some services, so they have a reason to come back.”

“You know you’re the only one who gets _all_ of my services.”

“And you don’t even need to pay, Phinks. What a good deal,” Chrollo joked, snickering behind his hand as Phinks turned bright pink, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.  

///

The line at the hotel’s entrance stretched down almost a whole block, but they skipped it, sidling up to the bouncer directly. He recognized Chrollo and waved them past the velvet rope without a fuss. He’d blown the bouncer in a back alleyway once for free access to the club whenever he wanted. It was one of the best investments he’d ever made.

They stopped in the hotel’s restaurant for an actual meal, and Chrollo ate his fill of salad gratefully. Phinks and Feitan shared an apple turnover, dressed with Pinot Noir glazing, to get them in the mood. Chrollo snuck a few bites for himself when they weren’t looking. The waitress, a pretty young thing with curly red hair, got flustered and spilled water on the table, apologizing profusely while a wild blush made her face match her hair. They laughed it off and tipped her 5,000. Chrollo could feel her eyes on his back, and he winked at her over his shoulder as they left.  

The party was in full swing when they stepped inside. All of the booths were taken, which was no surprise, so they made themselves comfortable at the bar, and Chrollo ordered a round of wine for the three of them. He always liked to start with wine – it would get him tipsy enough to forget to taste whatever else he decided to drink that night.

They settled in, talking amicably and watching the crowd for any standout candidates. A sizable number of men caught his eye and tried to beckon him over, but he could tell from their outfits that they weren’t quite his caliber. If it wasn’t name brand, he wasn’t interested.

He recognized a few of the men from past exploits. They always gave him a wistful look, which meant he was their first choice if he would have them again. Tonight, he was searching for new blood and a new conquest, but if nothing panned out, he might go back to one of them, just for kicks.

Some guy with white hair and a prickly-looking beard approached them, placing his hand on Feitan’s tiny waist and trying to pull him away. Phinks immediately puffed his chest out, glowering down at the offender, and he backed off immediately, his sleazy eyes sizing up someone else across the room instead.

Feitan bumped Phinks’ arm with his elbow in a wordless thanks.

Chrollo watched this exchange fondly, sipping his wine, reflecting on how grateful he was to have such a cohesive group of friends and supporters. He knew, if he were in a pinch, he could rely on them for pretty much anything, and they knew the same about him.

Silently, he raised his glass, a toast to their friendship. Phinks and Feitan raised theirs too, and in unison, they drained the rest of their wine, ordering another round from the bartender. The tab was already over 15,000, and they’d only just arrived.

“So what are you looking for in a man this time, boss?” Phinks swirled his drink lazily.

Chrollo tapped his fingers on the bar, thinking. Money was a given, but besides that, he wasn’t entirely sure, and said as much, waiting for Feitan or Phinks to offer their suggestions.

“Maybe you’re just in the mood to be seen and pull a publicity stunt.” Feitan popped a maraschino cherry in his mouth, face screwed up in a rare display of concentration as he tied the stem with his tongue. Some middle-aged man to his left was watching him like a hawk, and when Feitan pulled out the knotted stem, a lustful expression crossed his features. Looks like Feitan had a buyer.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Phinks finished his drink, replacing it with a martini this time. Chrollo didn’t miss the tiny hand signal Phinks flashed Feitan, giving him the OK for his interested client. That meant he didn’t seem shady, he had a watch worth at least 100,000 Jenny, and his wallet was stuffed. Among other things, Phinks was a fantastic pickpocket. He could grab someone’s wallet, check it, and return it in a matter of seconds without them ever knowing. Chrollo had been taking lessons from him, but he had a ways to go before it was a seamless process, so they still relied on Phinks’ natural skill to screen clients for them.

Feitan winked in acknowledgement and spun on his barstool to face the man, sucking on another cherry, and they started chatting.

“Bad luck?” A voice almost as deadpan as Feitan’s came from across the bar. Chrollo and Phinks turned to see another bartender mixing up something with vodka and raspberry, his long black hair tied back into a neat bun at the back of his head.

“Illumi. I didn’t know you worked here.” Chrollo said, perplexed. “Didn’t you bartend at the Box?”

“I quit after they forgot to pay me two weeks in a row. The Avenue was hiring, so here I am.”

“Fuck the Box. They mistreat everyone and the bouncers are shit.” Phinks grimaced into his glass as he downed it. Illumi’s head nodded slightly. He was harder to read than Feitan, but after knowing him for a little over a year, Chrollo had become accustomed to his manner of speaking and moving. Even with all the noise and dim lighting, he could tell Illumi was more at ease here, if only slightly.

“I’ll tip extra, as a token of good luck.” Chrollo promised. He leaned forward to murmur quietly, “Is he in town, do you know?”

Illumi was a mutual friend of Hisoka’s, and often knew his whereabouts, for some unexplained reason. Chrollo guessed they were more than friends, but he would never ask directly. Illumi was a clam when it came to his private affairs.

“He’s supposed to drop in later next week. He’ll probably have time on Wednesday to see you.”

“Let him know I’m looking forward to it,” Chrollo smiled, sitting back in his chair. “Another wine, please.”

“We actually got a new selection just the other day. Higher quality, maybe more in your taste range. It runs 50,000 a glass. Want some?”

Phinks sputtered on his drink, eyes comically wide. “Per _glass_?”

Chrollo furrowed his brow. He did want some, very much so, but why buy it himself when he could get someone else to buy it for him? “What’s it called?” he asked instead.

“Le Pin.”

Giving Illumi a significant look, he turned to find the closest lunkhead in a suit, settling on a man in his 50s with a crooked nose and horrendous sideburns.

“I can’t _believe_ you haven’t bought me a drink, yet,” Chrollo drawled, his delicate fingers brushing up against the man’s elbow, giving him a whiff of Black Orchid. The man blinked at him, eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. He wouldn’t find one. Not until Chrollo let him.

“What are you drinking?” The man asked, looking at his empty wine glass, probably calculating costs in his head.

“Le Pin.” Chrollo repeated the name with a French flair.

The man pursed his lips, but as Chrollo leaned forward, his collarbone peeking through the collar of his shirt and nimble fingers skimming over the man’s thigh, he gave a grunt of resignation and signaled Illumi to pour a glass.

As soon as the drink was in his hands, Chrollo flashed him a winning smile and turned to face Phinks, back to the stranger once more. He heard an annoyed growl behind him but paid it no mind. The first sip of wine made him question everything he’d ever had before – it was full and thick with flavor, the alcohol barely noticeable under the layers and layers of oak.

“How much does the whole bottle go for?” Chrollo asked, curious. He wanted to know how much he needed to save before he could bathe in it.

“Anywhere from 200,000 to 1,000,000, depending on where you get it and how old it is. Our bottles aren’t aged, so they’re 250,000 each.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” Phinks said, incredulous. Illumi’s dark eyes narrowed a fraction.

“It is my job. But also because someone bought four bottles for his table, just a few minutes ago.”

“What? _Four?_ That’s…” Phinks counted on his fingers. “1,000,000! On wine!”

At this, Chrollo perked up, which didn’t go unnoticed by Illumi. “I don’t know who he is or what he does, but he does not seem like someone you’ll be able to con, Chrollo. No one has been able to get so much as a word out of him, even your strongest competitors. He just shoos them off. Exercise caution.”

As if the dollar amount alone hadn’t piqued Chrollo’s interest, the prospect of a challenge got his blood pumping. It had been so long since he’d had to work for someone, without them falling at his feet after the first hint of flirtation.

“Do you know where he went?” Chrollo asked eagerly.

Illumi pointed a thin finger. “The blonde one, in the booth in the back.”

Chrollo checked over his shoulder, squinting to see better in the mood lighting. The blonde one was a stern-looking man, maybe in his forties. Chrollo could spot the unmistakable glitter of diamonds on his watch, but from this distance, he couldn’t guess the brand or make.

As if reading his mind, Illumi tapped the bar to get his attention, saying, “Rolex.”

Chrollo’s face lit up and he finished the rest of his wine. If he had his way, he would have plenty more of it before the night was over. Phinks knocked their knees together, giving him a nod of approval. “Good luck. Get his credit card and treat yourself.”

“I’ll treat all of us to a new apartment and a butler.” Chrollo smoothed his features and started towards the booth. He could feel the weighted gaze of other escorts, and saw many of them curl around their clients defensively, to protect them from his overbearing presence. It was a flattering gesture. If he wanted, he could’ve stepped on anyone’s toes, stealing their business with just a snap of his fingers, and they knew it. Everyone knew it.

But he wasn’t interested in any of them. As he approached the blonde man’s table, getting a closer look at the expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres, he felt his stomach flip with anticipation. This was the first time he’d been genuinely excited to face off with a potential client and it was exhilarating.

Chrollo paused at the edge of their booth, chin held high, looking down at the blonde, lips curled upward in a lascivious smirk. The other men in the booth jumped in their seats, startled, and stared back at him. A few opened their mouths to make stammering protests, but Chrollo maintained eye contact with his target.

The man in question was _large_. His shoulders might’ve been twice the width of Chrollo’s, but his clothes were finely tailored to fit properly, with none of the shirt buttons taut or threatening to burst. His hair was long and unruly. It framed strongly structured cheekbones and ice blue eyes, pupils fine black slits that resembled a cat’s or a snake’s. If Chrollo squinted in the darkness, he might’ve mistaken the man for a lion, or some other jungle animal. There was a wild dangerousness radiating from him.

His stomach pulled another Olympic scale backflip.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the man in the middle of drinking his wine. Chrollo refused to be the first one to back down. The man seemed to realize this, brows furrowing beneath his fringe, before he raised a hand and made a dismissive motion. Some of the other men at the booth watched on with incredulity, and Chrollo knew exactly what they were thinking – “you’re going to pass up on _that_?”

He took advantage of their confusion and singled out one of the more nervous-looking ones, leaning forward just a little to murmur quietly, “Is this seat taken?” as he gestured to an empty space in the booth.

Chrollo could’ve sworn he saw a bead of sweat travel down the poor man’s face as he looked from the blonde to Chrollo, trying to make a decision he wouldn’t regret. Chrollo gathered his target was the boss. Perfect.

Finally, after a few laborious seconds of hesitation, the man stood, letting Chrollo slide past him and take a seat. He scratched the back of his head and made a helpless motion at his boss before sitting back down, keeping a humorously large distance between himself and Chrollo, so that he was half-hanging off the edge of the booth.

Now afforded a clearer view of this rich, rich, man, Chrollo fixed him with another smoldering stare, letting the noise of the club fade while he focused on winning his potential client over. True to Illumi’s word, he didn’t seem particularly interested, but also not petty enough to force Chrollo to leave. Instead, he let out a gruff sigh, pouring Chrollo a glass of wine and shooting daggers at his less-than professional subordinate, who bowed his head in apology.

Having already had a few glasses of liquor, Chrollo only sipped at it, so he could stay alert. He ran through a few potential ice breakers in his head, finally knitting his fingers together under his chin and batting his eyelashes. “You invested more money in this wine than some men do on cars.”

The man didn’t crack a smile. His expression was stern, and all the other men in the booth waited with baited breath for him to respond. They probably assumed if Chrollo couldn’t snag the boss, he’d settle for one of them, and they’d get a taste of what they had to offer.

As if.

“Investing in cars is foolish. They depreciate in value faster than stocks change.”

The hairs on the back of Chrollo’s neck stood up, and an imaginary breeze covered his arms in goosebumps. The man’s voice was haggard and rough, with a hint of an accent on the ‘v’s. It reeked of an aged and infallible composure. Clearly, he was not only a man of business stature, but of worldly experiences. Chrollo had been with enough wealthy men to know the difference between someone who had cheated his way to the top and someone who had set the standard for excellence. It was the gold standard that set the Splenda apart from the real sugar.

His fingers curled around the wine glass in excitement. No matter what happened, he _had_ to have this man.

None of these thoughts showed on his face. His features reflected only his seductive intentions, and with a quirk of his brow, he changed his expression into intrigue. “It’s still worthwhile to get something that won’t break down in two years. I’m guessing you don’t drive a Volkswagen, for the same reason you don’t drink Cabernet wine.”

The man glared at him. “Be careful making guesses about someone you just sat down in front of.”

Chrollo smothered his leer. He traced a fingertip across his lips, feigning thought. “I could probably guess a lot about you, just from looking at you.”

The man didn’t say anything but his lips pursed, and Chrollo took it as permission to proceed. He theatrically swept his gaze over the man’s torso, as if looking for clues, and started to tick things off on his fingers.

“That shirt is custom made. Burberry doesn’t carry anything in your size, a 42 Long, at least, but they do offer bulk orders for personally tailored items, if you can afford it. That watch is from the latest Rolex collection, but you didn’t get the _most_ expensive one, so you see limited value in purely aesthetic goods. And as for cars… I’m betting you have a company Maybach for when you’re being driven around, but you prefer BMWs on your day off, for the smooth handling and low profile.”

The tension between the man’s eyebrows relaxed by a fraction, and Chrollo could tell he’d given an impressive performance. He still didn’t say anything, though, pouring Chrollo another generous helping of wine instead.

Chrollo would have to exercise a lot of effort to keep himself from getting drunk. Now was _not_ the time for sloppiness. He took a moment to think some more, constructing a conversational segue in his mind. He desperately wanted to know why this man was here, at a club, if he wasn’t interested in anything but the drinks – he could buy drinks from private retailers who did house calls. So why come out to a busy place like this?

When he had articulated his question, Chrollo looked back into the man’s stoic eyes. “Are you celebrating something specific, or did your employees ask for a night on the town?”

If the man was surprised Chrollo knew he was the boss, he didn’t show it. “You’re asking me why I came to a club if I _didn’t_ want an escort.”

_Right on the mark._

The man crossed his bulky arms in front of him. Chrollo watched some of the veins in his forearm bulge, and he fought the urge to lick his lips.

“This is a substitute 飲み会. Our preferred restaurant is closed for renovations.”

Chrollo blinked. “Are you… Japanese?”

“No. Some of my employees are,” the man gestured to his coworkers at the table. “And they request a taste of home, on occasion.”

It probably also served as a cultural bridge for business endeavors, but Chrollo supposed that went without saying.

He tapped his fingers against the bowl of the wine glass idly. It was the man’s turn to initiate a topic, now.

His waiting paid off. The man spoke again. “In all your haste to sit and trifle in conversation, you never once mentioned your name.”

“I’m Chrollo. Chrollo Lucifer.”

One of the men at the table choked on his drink. Chrollo smiled wryly. He got that reaction a lot.

“Is that your given name? Or did you choose it?”

“I’ll tell you when it matters.”

The man seemed satisfied. Chrollo knew why – it was bad business sense to give out too much information without a guaranteed agreement. This applied to mergers, cooperative price gouging, contractual obligations, and pretty much anything else where an exchange of secrets was necessary to build trust.

He was, thus, surprised when the man offered up a token of information in turn. “Silva Zoldyck.”

“Zoldyck? As in, Zoldyck Enterprises?” Chrollo clarified, not daring to believe his luck. The man, Silva, gave him a stiff nod.

Zoldyck Enterprises was an international corporation that specialized in designing weapons of warfare, and they also offered under the table mercenaries-for-hire, if you had the millions to spare. They were decidedly indifferent to worldly affairs, never picking sides or getting into the nitty-gritty political discussions that came with aggressive armament. Despite their insistence that the company was completely neutral, Chrollo had always gotten the vibe that their intentions were less than wholesome. Although, that depended on whose perspective you looked through.

“So, give me your pitch.”

Silva was referring to Chrollo’s unspoken request for a sponsorship. He must’ve had escorts in the past, or he wouldn’t have been so blunt about it, and that made Chrollo relax in his chair. Experienced men were easier to work with. 

All eyes at the table were focused on him. Perhaps other escorts would be thrown off by the audience of Silva’s employees, but Chrollo, however, a true professional, was not fazed. He thrived in the spotlight.

“You’re _looking_ at my pitch.” Chrollo inclined his head a little; he knew which angles let the light hit his face the right way, so his cheekbones glowed and his eyes darkened under the fan of his eyelashes. Some of the other men shifted uncomfortably. They had realized, by this point, Chrollo would _not_ be settling, so now they had to watch their boss either take him home or chase him off for good.

Chrollo’s expression almost faltered when Silva’s lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. He hadn’t expected that.

“I know. I meant, what you tell other men. Your introductory paragraph.”

Was he actually… _joking?_ Chrollo couldn’t tell. Silva’s voice held the same neutral intonation, but something in his eyes glittered with mirth. He was humoring Chrollo.

It was another test.

The competitive instinct roared to life in his stomach, and he rested his elbows on the table, letting confidence ooze off him like liquid chocolate – sweet and sinful. “I never give the same pitch twice. It’s tailored to each client. But, if you’d been the type to need one, it would’ve been something like, ‘I love it when men have longer hair than mine. It gives me something to hold onto when they’re fucking me into my mattress.’”

The man to Silva’s left turned bright red, stammering something about needing to go to the bathroom. His coworkers laughed and clapped him on the back, but didn’t let him leave. How comically cruel.

Silva’s grin widened. “Straight to the point.”

“Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.” Chrollo recited, taking another careful drink of his wine. It really was exquisite.

“Kafka. Quoting him from the get-go would have been more effective. You wouldn’t have hooked me with the first one.”

So Silva was learned in things besides business. If Silva knew Kafka, they might _actually_ have something to talk about, if they got closer. How wonderful.

Chrollo let some laughter sneak into his tone, and he replied, “Too forward?”

“I prefer something with an air of mystique.”

“I’m already mysterious. If I had capitalized on mystery, you wouldn’t have known what I was asking for.”

“I am sure that I would’ve been able to guess. No one invites themselves to sit with me for wine and hors d’oeuvres without wanting an arrangement of some sort.” 

“So? How about it? An arrangement?” Chrollo pressed. He had waited a good length of time to officially state his proposition, at the expense of Silva’s subordinates. It was now or never. Besides, he didn’t want to further intrude on their company drinking party. Part of his job was knowing when to leave men to their own devices.

Silva’s face was unreadable. There was a hush among the businessmen while he deliberated. Chrollo didn’t break eye contact. He had to seem like a good investment, strong and independent and profitable. Backing down would only paint him as weak-willed.

“There is an event on Friday,” Silva spoke slowly, as though measuring the value of each word. “An event for which I could stand to use a companion.” Chrollo’s heart jumped into his throat, but he waited for the completion of the offer. “I was going to bring my son, but I suspect he will not find it as interesting as you might.”

Under the table, Chrollo’s leg was jiggling with anticipation. He remained politely straight-faced. “I would love to go.”

There was a collective sigh around the table as Silva’s employees accepted their lonely fates.

“Semi-formal. It is a dinner party, among other things, so be prepared. I’m sure you could research it online if you were so inclined. A car will be by to pick you up at seven.”

Chrollo didn’t ask how Silva would find him; he was a multi-billionaire working in military operations. He could find the wing of a fly in this club, if he wanted.

The man who’d originally let Chrollo sit down stood, making room for his graceful departure. He gave a tiny bow, in accordance with the Japanese businessmen, and a few of them nodded in response, the disappointment still clear on their faces. Silva watched him with a sharp eye. As Chrollo turned to leave, his voice, still even and thick with what Chrollo now recognized as a slightly Russian accent, called after him.

“Take some of this wine with you. I think we’re in need of stronger liquor.” Silva offered Chrollo the three unopened bottles. Chrollo bit back a blinding smile, accepting the gift with his trademark finesse, fingers brushing against Silva’s for a brief moment. His hands were cool, smooth and strong, and Chrollo made a hasty retreat before his mind supplied any imagery about where those fingers would be exploring, come Friday.


	2. Chapter 2

The cork bounced off the wall and champagne bubbled out of the bottle, dripping over the kitchen floor. Phinks poured himself a small glass and gave the rest to Chrollo.

“I can’t believe you snagged the CEO of Zoldyck Enterprises. Holy shit, holy fuck, boss, wait until Fei finds out –”

Feitan was currently MIA after leaving with his suitor. They expected him to text by three in the morning, letting them know he was okay. That left them with several hours to themselves and a lot of champagne to get through.

Chrollo took a gigantic gulp, wiping some of the fizz off his mouth. “I have to get Illumi a thank-you present. If he hadn’t mentioned the wine, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“While you’re at it, see if Hisoka’s in town yet, so you can get some practice in. I doubt your client could be packing more heat than he is.”

“Good idea.”

Monday morning, he ran to the store and got an elaborate gift basket, filled with chocolate treats and some cheeses. He wasn’t exactly sure what Illumi liked to eat – he’d never actually _seen_ Illumi eat – but it was the thought that counted, and if things with Silva worked out, he could always buy Illumi something nicer.

The club was absolutely dead when he stopped by to deliver his present. He wasn’t surprised, but it was still strange, seeing the venue’s architecture in a clearer light.

“Chrollo. You’re back.” Illumi’s blank eyes sized him up, settling on the basket. “…and I take it your endeavors were successful?”

“Thanks to you.” Chrollo placed the basket on the counter. “I’m truly in your debt.”

“I thought the point was to get _out_ of debt?” Illumi deadpanned. He accepted the gift nonetheless, peering through the colored tissue paper. “Is this cheese?”

“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant.”

“I am not. Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need any favors in the future. I’ll find a way to make them happen.” Chrollo winked.

“I will remember that. But I don’t think you would be able to give me anything Hisoka could not.”

“That’s probably true.” Just another addition to the mystery that was Hisoka’s and Illumi’s relationship. Chrollo almost asked, but thought better of it, confirming his appointment instead. “By the way, is Wednesday still…?”

“Yes, Hisoka has time to see you. He’ll text you with the details.”

Chrollo beamed. “I’m glad to hear it. Take care,”

“And yourself.”

///

_My Lexington and Park apartment. 10pm. Bring ice cream._

_-H_ _♦♥_

Chrollo made sure to pack a few of his favorite lingerie sets in a leather drawstring backpack. He didn’t bother bringing lube or condoms; Hisoka always seemed to have an obscene stock of sex paraphernalia in his bedside table. He would also usually bring Chrollo something back from his travels, and as Chrollo hopped in a cab, he felt giddy just thinking about it.

Hisoka’s apartment was nice. Not in the “nuclear family’s dream home” type of nice, but the extravagant, modern, high-tech and gluttonous type of nice. The complex frequently made news headlines for being one of the top ten most expensive apartment complexes available. Last year, the prices were hiked up, and space in that complex cost around 105,000 Jenny per square foot. Chrollo had almost orgasmed reading the news headline alone. Hisoka’s apartment was a little over 3,500 square feet in size, not counting the balconies, and when he did the math, he figured it must have cost more than 367,500,000 Jenny. After finishing the article, he had immediately called Hisoka, forcing him to take a “coffee break” from his training and indulge Chrollo with phone sex in a public bathroom.

The complex stood out among the surrounding buildings with a pristine white façade and floor-to-ceiling windows in the lobby. He paid the cab driver and tipped him generously. Excitement bubbled in his stomach as he made his way up to the 44th level.

Hisoka’s apartment took up half of the whole floor. It was one step away from a penthouse. The door, painted in a strange antique pink, was unlocked, as usual. He knew the drill. Hisoka didn’t bother locking anything, especially when he expected visitors. No one would dare try to steal anything from him. Not if they valued their lives.

Chrollo set his bag of clothes on the kitchen counter, running his fingers across the fine granite, his spine tingling. Hisoka’s liquor cabinet was stocked full, and a quick peek in the fridge told Chrollo that he hadn’t been cooking a lot lately. He’d only just come back from an overseas trip, so it made sense. He was probably still jetlagged.

After a few minutes of perusing the kitchen and the cupboard contents, Chrollo slunk into the living room, and then peered into Hisoka’s giant bedroom. He could hear the shower running, with hot steam pouring out of the adjacent bathroom, and the smell of Hisoka’s shampoo – Oribe for Beautiful Color – filled his head. The shampoo was almost as expensive as some of Chrollo’s favorite perfumes, but only because Hisoka did a lot of damage to his hair with dye and heat, and he needed something high-quality to keep it soft. And _oh_ , was it soft. When Hisoka didn’t gel his hair into a lawn gnome monstrosity for his public image, it was straight and shaggy, with bangs that constantly got in his eyes. Chrollo loved it.

He flopped onto the bed and rolled around on its soft covers. The sheets weren’t quite as nice as his last appointment, but they were still incredibly luxurious, and he enjoyed them all the same.

Inspiration struck him, and he hurried back out to the kitchen to grab his lingerie, throwing one of the bodysuits on before Hisoka could emerge from his shower. To complete the picture, Chrollo found a strawberry from the fridge and held it between his lips, sucking gently, as he waited, sprawled out on the bed. A few seconds later, the shower shut off, and he could hear the wet sound of Hisoka’s footsteps padding around as he finished his routine: moisturizer, deodorant, and cologne. Chrollo knew it well.

Chrollo arched his back a little to emphasize his curves, and Hisoka’s amber eyes widened a fraction when he stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped loosely around his waist. When they first met, Chrollo had been absolutely sure that Hisoka was wearing yellow contacts, because no one’s eyes were that color, but as they’d gotten to know each other, he’d been forced to accept that Hisoka’s eyes were just that bright.

Hisoka pulled his thin lips taut in a smirk. He ran his hand through his pink hair, pushing it out of his face, thin eyebrows curving upward with interest. Chrollo watched some leftover water droplets trail down his stomach and get absorbed by the towel.

“I didn’t hear you come in, doll.”

Chrollo still had a strawberry in his mouth, so he jutted his chin forward in response. Hisoka strode forward and leaned down, grazing his teeth across the edge of the strawberry. His breath smelled like mint and chocolate. He must’ve been eating candy earlier.

“You didn’t cut off the stem,” Hisoka murmured, amber eyes glittering dangerously. “But I think I’ll live.” He took a bite out of the strawberry, stem and all, before letting his gaze travel over Chrollo’s decadent outfit. “You did all this for me?”

Chrollo grinned and swallowed his half. “When you’re in town, I want to make it memorable.”

Hisoka’s hand reached out to squeeze his ass. “I don’t think I could ever forget you. But this is a nice touch.”

“Did you bring me anything?” Chrollo asked, visibly eager. Hisoka was someone he didn’t mind letting his defenses down around.

“Of course. On the lounge, in my closet.” Hisoka slid into bed, still in his towel, as Chrollo went to retrieve the gift. It was wrapped professionally, by the shopkeepers, no doubt, and he could hear the crinkle of packing supplies inside when he shook the box.

He returned to the bed and opened it up, leafing through tissue paper until he grabbed a handful of matte black material. He pulled the outfit out of the box and let it unfold in front of him. It was an underbust corset, made of leather, and from the feel of it, made with real boning. Hisoka had left the price tag attached for Chrollo’s benefit.

A younger Chrollo would’ve squealed. As it was, he had to withhold an overzealous reaction, maintaining his gracious façade. “It’s beautiful. Where did you get this?”

“There were some interesting underground BDSM clubs near the hotel I was staying at. Someone directed me to a lingerie boutique, and this was screaming your name.”

“It’s not the only thing that will be screaming my name,” Chrollo purred, crawling up the bed to straddle Hisoka.

“So you like it?”

“I _love_ it.”

“Good. And if you deliver, I’ll add on a few hundred thousand tonight, for gratuity.”

“You know I’ll deliver.” Chrollo drug his nails down Hisoka’s chest, leaving red scratch marks in their wake. Hisoka didn’t make a sound, but his back arched forward off the pillows a little, and he tracked Chrollo’s movements with his eyes intently.

Chrollo tugged away the bed sheets separating them and palmed Hisoka through the towel. His mouth started to water with anticipation – Hisoka’s cock was one of the largest he’d ever encountered, and it was also quite pretty, with just enough veining to add texture. In addition, he always tasted quite nice. Chrollo wasn’t sure how he did it. It’s not like he was constantly drinking pineapple juice, but his cum was always sweet and flavorful, like candy.

He was one giant, rich candy bar.

Hisoka was already half-hard. Chrollo unwrapped the towel, licking his lips hungrily, and his gaze flicked up to Hisoka’s face for permission. Hisoka’s eyes were already half-lidded, pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of amber iris visible. Chrollo bent forward, ass in the air, and wrapped his lips around the head of Hisoka’s cock, wetting it with drool. He flicked his tongue across the tip, fingers teasing the soft skin of Hisoka’s balls, and he listened to his client’s verbal cues attentively.

When Hisoka let out a small growl of frustration, he smiled a little, deigning to swallow down more of Hisoka’s cock, letting its impressive girth fill his mouth. He scraped the sides with his teeth a little and Hisoka hissed. It was a sadistic move, but Hisoka loved a little pain mixed in with his pleasure, and Chrollo was all too happy to oblige. He let it slide out of his mouth, running his tongue down the underside of the shaft, thumb rubbing circles around the head while he worked, tasting everything gingerly.

When his lips found the tip of Hisoka’s cock again, Hisoka’s strong fingers grabbed his hair and there was a momentary pause before he exerted actual pressure. This was one of the very subtle safety measures they’d agreed upon some time ago; Chrollo knew what was coming, and if he wasn’t prepared or didn’t want to, he could protest or resist Hisoka’s hand. Thanks to the generous gift, he was definitely in the mood this time, and Hisoka forced his head down as far as it could go, until his lips were brushing the base of Hisoka’s pubic bone and his throat was completely blocked off. Chrollo gagged a little, for show, because he knew Hisoka liked the sound. A few seconds later, Hisoka removed his hand, and Chrollo came up for air, lips slippery with drool. He gave Hisoka a sloppy smile and dove back down of his own volition, deep-throating him again, swallowing carefully around Hisoka’s length. His throat ached a little, but he was out of practice, and Hisoka was extraordinarily large. Most of his clients didn’t hit further than his uvula.

Hisoka’s hand returned, combing through his hair with something akin to affection before roughly pulling Chrollo up and forcing him back down. He shut his eyes, focusing on letting his throat accept the intrusion as Hisoka face-fucked him.

“I love it when you let me use you like this, cockslut,” Hisoka’s voice was a low rumble in his chest, gravelly and thick with lust.

Chrollo let out a muffled mewl in response and rubbed his hand against his own erection, through the lacy lingerie. Hisoka let him go and his cock slipped past Chrollo’s lips with a wet _pop_. Chrollo looked up at him through his eyelashes, mouth still dripping with drool, and he wiped himself off with his arm.

Hisoka gave him a sinister smile. It sent goosebumps crawling across Chrollo’s skin, and when Hisoka held a finger up, signaling for him not to move, he absolutely obeyed, hovering over Hisoka’s erection until he received further instruction.

Hisoka fumbled around in his bedside drawer, stomach and arm muscles rippling under his pale skin. Chrollo waited patiently.

His client finally pulled out some lube, condoms, and a cock ring. Chrollo eyed the cock ring with interest. Not for Hisoka, surely?

“I’m sore, so you’ll be the one doing all the work tonight, pet,” Hisoka cooed, tilting Chrollo’s chin up with his index finger.

“Whatever you want,” Chrollo said breathlessly. The sharp point of the nail against Chrollo’s throat felt like a threat. Hisoka’s nails were much sharper than his own, and no matter how many punching bags he hit or how many fights he was in, they were always perfectly manicured.

Hisoka made short work of the condom wrapper and the lube, situating himself in a minute or two, while Chrollo watched feverishly. Fucking Hisoka was always a treat. His toys and other clients just couldn’t compare. Belatedly, he wondered how Silva would measure up, but the thought slipped from his mind instantly when Hisoka pulled away his lingerie to capture his cock in the ring.

It felt constraining and tight, almost uncomfortably so, and Chrollo bit the inside of his cheek, trying to decide if he liked it or not. Hisoka’s keen eyes watched him, but the man said nothing, instead pulling Chrollo’s entire body forward so Hisoka’s cock was rubbing against his entrance.

“Not going to prep me?” Chrollo asked, smiling slightly. Hisoka barely shook his head. They both knew it was unnecessary. Chrollo prepped himself every morning and every night, precisely for this purpose. It was his _job_.

Hisoka had been generous with the lube, and as Chrollo lowered himself down, he was grateful for it. Hisoka’s cock stretched him out, so he went slowly, making sure he didn’t hurt himself – he had a lot of money riding on tonight and Friday. Getting sutures and rescheduling weren’t on his to-do list. Hisoka waited, his strong fingers holding Chrollo’s hips in a bruising grip, but he didn’t force anything. He understood the risks as well.

When Chrollo was finally fully seated, he waited a little longer for his body to adjust. It only took a minute or so before he began to move. Chrollo ground down enthusiastically, palms resting on Hisoka’s abs, and he rocked his hips back and forth, waiting for the angle that would make him see stars. It didn’t take long. Hisoka’s cock brushed against his prostate and he repeated the motion that had made it happen, falling into a sloppy rhythm, brows knitted with concentration.

Hisoka chuckled, throwing his head back onto the pillows, lips parted slightly while Chrollo rode him. His body truly was remarkable; it was covered in battle scars and there were some bruises from his most recent adventures, but the muscles and sculpted shape more than made up for it. Chrollo still couldn’t believe his luck. He’d landed a really, really attractive client. Hisoka rolled his hips lazily, pressing his dick further inside, and Chrollo’s breath hitched in his throat, tiny sparks of heat tingling happily in his veins.

Throwing a hand dramatically over his eyes, Hisoka smiled, exposing his white teeth. “Talk to me, cockslut.”

Chrollo dug his nails into Hisoka’s stomach. “I’d almost forgotten – how big your – _fucking_ cock was,” he managed between Hisoka’s thrusts. “You’re my _favorite_ fucking client.”

“Don’t flatter me like that. You’ll make me want to fuck you until you lose your grasp of the English language.”

“Oh, God, please,”  

“What was that, angel?”

“I said ‘please’,”

Hisoka sat up so they were nose to nose, his eyes narrowed. He held Chrollo’s jaw in his hand. “Beg for it. Beg for me to fuck the life out of you.”

“Hisoka, _please_ , fuck me until I can’t see straight anymore,” Chrollo hissed through his teeth. His thighs were trembling, at this point, from the exertion, and his cock was pressed against Hisoka’s stomach, bouncing a little as he moved. The teasing friction made Chrollo want to scream. Hisoka traced his nail up Chrollo’s shaft, a wordless challenge. It tickled a little, almost stung, and excitement bubbled in Chrollo’s body.

Chrollo rose to the challenge. He curled his fingers into Hisoka’s hair and pulled, _hard_ , hard enough for Hisoka’s head to snap back, exposing his neck and shoulder blades, and Chrollo scraped his teeth across his pronounced collarbone, biting down into the soft skin of his shoulder. That would definitely leave a bruise.

Hisoka growled and flipped him over, his back landing on the bed with a soft _fwump_ , and Hisoka hauled one of his legs over his shoulder, leaning down to sneer in Chrollo’s face. “You’ll regret that, tomorrow morning.”

Straightening up, Hisoka repositioned himself inside and set up a harsh pace, slamming into Chrollo with the full force of his body’s weight. Since he was almost 100% muscle, this was a considerable amount.

Chrollo fisted his hands in the sheets, holding on tightly so he didn’t get shoved into the headboard, and let his client take the lead. He should’ve known Hisoka was lying when he’d said he was sore. Or maybe he was actually sore, but he had just enough endurance to punish Chrollo for his insolence. That was also completely plausible.

He reached down to stroke himself, but Hisoka grabbed his wrist and pinned it above his head instead, leering at him. “You’re not going to cum until I _say_ you can.”

Chrollo’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t usually into orgasm denial, but the way Hisoka’s cock felt right now and the added sensation of the cock ring made him reconsider. He turned his head away from Hisoka and let out a little huff of frustration.

When Hisoka wrapped his hand around Chrollo’s cock and pumped it slowly, Chrollo gasped, his toes curling involuntarily. Hisoka watched him, a smirk etched on his features, keeping his grip firm as he maintained his steady pace, rubbing against Chrollo’s prostate with every movement.

He felt like he was going to melt. His nerves were on fire, by this point, and he cracked an eye open to look up at his client. “Hisoka, I’m gonna cum, f-fuck –”

“Ask permission, first,”

“Hisoka, let me cum, dammit –”

“Ask _nicely_ , cumslut,” Hisoka insisted in a teasing tone that annoyed Chrollo in the deepest roots of his consciousness. “What’s the magic word…?”

“Please, let – me – cum –”

“No. I don’t think you _need_ to cum,” Hisoka suddenly stopped. He’d frozen in place, halfway sheathed, amber eyes alight with silent laughter.

Chrollo slammed his head back against the pillow. His entire body was singing and hot, ready for release, but as the seconds ticked by, the feeling slowly started to ebb away, fading into a flatline.

“Fuck you,” Chrollo said through gritted teeth.

The asshole waited a little longer for Chrollo’s orgasm to escape him completely before he started up again, pressing his cock back into Chrollo and continuing to stroke him. He clenched the muscles in his ass defiantly and Hisoka just smiled, rubbing circles across the head of his cock.

Chrollo shivered. His client was so, so good at what he did, but it didn’t mean Chrollo had to appreciate the snarky attitude. Hisoka kissed his calf, still slung over Hisoka’s shoulder, and gave him a dark grin, grinding into Chrollo’s prostate intermittently. His long fingers kept working at Chrollo’s cock until the heat started to build up again, and Chrollo moaned desperately, scraping his nails against Hisoka’s arms and shoulders.

Breath stuttering, he tried once more. “P – please, can I cum,”

“What was that?”

“Please, Hisoka, can I cum?”

“Again,”

“Hisoka, please, please let me cum,” Chrollo’s voice had taken on a whining pitch.

“ _Again_ ,”

“Hi – soka – _please_ ,” he choked out, eyes shut tight and brow furrowed.  

“Fine,” Hisoka said, nonchalant, and he pressed his thumb against the base of Chrollo’s head, in the spot they both knew drove him crazy – Chrollo keened, all the muscles in his body tensing up as his orgasm finally hit him, prickles of heat and pleasure spreading through him. His lips parted in a soundless moan as his cock throbbed against the cock ring and hot cum splattered onto his stomach. Hisoka stroked him until he had nothing left to give, trailing a finger through the pool of cum on Chrollo’s stomach and pressing it to Chrollo’s lips, forcing him to taste himself. In a daze, Chrollo slowly licked his fingers clean, body still thrumming with endorphins and pleasurable waves.

Hisoka pulled out, still hard, and he stripped the condom off. Chrollo didn’t even have to ask. He sat up, vision hazy and limbs heavy, pressing his tongue against Hisoka’s cock and lapping at the head. Steadying himself, he sucked down as much as he could, nose bumping against the V of Hisoka’s hips, and he let out small noises as Hisoka’s cock filled his throat for the second time that night.

Hisoka must’ve been fairly close, himself, because it only took a few minutes for him to finish as well, hands tightly knotted in Chrollo’s hair. Cum dripped down the back of Chrollo’s throat and he swallowed obediently. The aftertaste, like always, was sweet and sugary, so he didn’t mind. He coughed a little when Hisoka finally withdrew, collapsing in a heap on his bed and pulling Chrollo down with him.

They lay like that for a while, breathing hard and letting their bodies settle. Hisoka ran his fingers through Chrollo’s mussed hair, untangling it bit by bit. Aftercare wasn’t ever a specific part of their meetups, but they did usually spend some time resting afterward, if only to gather the strength to move again.

“Illu-chan said you had your eye on someone,” Hisoka murmured, voice now quiet and devoid of any humor. He must be tired.

Chrollo nodded. “The CEO of Zoldyck Enterprises.”

“Oh? That’s quite a catch, even for you. Congratulations are in order, I suppose?”

“He’ll congratulate me himself with cash.”

“Mmm.” Hisoka’s hand trailed down Chrollo’s chest to tug at the lingerie. “I like this. I might find it in my schedule to order you some more.”

“You spoil me.”

“And I love doing it.”

When Chrollo finally left the complex, it was with a fist full of cash and his new corset. His ass twinged with every step he took, but he was nothing if not a professional, and his movements weren’t hindered at all by the pain. He spent the next day resting, even dragging out some bath bombs and taking a long bath with one of his favorite novels.

He woke up early on Friday, running to the gym to get a quick work out before he showered and did a few house chores. In the afternoon, he took a nap, to make sure he had enough energy for whatever the night would bring. He found time to stop by the spa for his facial and mani-pedi, and with soft cuticles and bright skin, he enlisted the help of his roommates for the final touches. Phinks and Feitan helped him choose his “official” outfit (a steel grey button-up and some too-tight black slacks) and under it, his “unofficial” outfit, his new favorite purchase from AP, because it was comfortable and convenient. He didn’t want to waste time changing in the bathroom before he got down to business with Silva.

He’d done a little research on the event and found that it was a meeting between some of Zoldyck Enterprises’ top clientele, informally held over a nice dinner, to boost relations. He understood he needed to be on his best behavior and let Silva take the first step in any and all interactions with the clientele. If he embarrassed his host, his escort career would be over in a flash. Knowing this, he psyched himself up a few minutes before he left, and waited for his mystery ride to the venue.

“Godspeed,” Phinks looked up at him reverently, from his position on the couch. He and Feitan were taking this Friday off to bond.

“God has nothing to do with it,” Chrollo said cheerfully. He waved and said his goodbyes, making his way down to the street.

Silva hadn’t called or texted to warn him what kind of car he should expect, but as he watched the traffic slip by, he figured he’d know it when he saw it.

And he did.

At seven o’clock on the dot, a nondescript Maybach detached from the sea of cars, parking in front of Chrollo, and a uniformed driver hopped out to open the door to the backseat. Chrollo flashed him a smile and slid inside, the fabric of his slacks gliding across the fine leather seats. The car smelled brand new, like maybe Silva had just purchased it or rented it for this very occasion, and when the door shut behind him with a soft click, he turned to face his client.

Silva’s hair was still messy and all over the place. He obviously hadn’t bothered trying to tame it, not even for this meeting. Maybe it was part of his image. His shirt was tailored to fit him perfectly, and this time, the watch on his arm _was_ Rolex’s most expensive endeavor of the season. Chrollo grinned.

“Nice watch.”

Silva grunted, eyes fixed on something out the window. He hadn’t even looked at Chrollo yet.

The car pulled off the curb. Its engine was almost silent except for a soft purr whenever the driver shifted gears. Chrollo kneaded his fingers into the leather seats, examining the make of the vehicle’s interior. The dashboard was entirely digital and there were literal television screens on the back of the front seats, for the passengers. The partition separating them from the driver was a classic ivory and was only halfway rolled up, presumably so Silva could give driving instructions. The seats felt like reclining armchairs, with enough foot room for Chrollo to stretch his legs out comfortably, and he crossed his ankles as he sunk into the luxury.

A few minutes into the drive, Chrollo cleared his throat delicately, tilting his head to the side so that Silva might get the cue. Silva’s attention was still directed to the street traffic, but he rolled up the partition completely, granting Chrollo the permission to speak.

“How would you like this to go?” Chrollo asked.

“This?”

“The dinner,” he clarified. “How would you like me to act? I can be flirty, obnoxious, reserved, professional – whatever you envisioned.”

Silva glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Surprise me. I am anticipating a boring event. Make it less so.”

What an incredibly simple request. Chrollo’s mere presence at the side of one of the most powerful men in the city would cause a stir, so he hardly needed to lift a finger to make it interesting, but he would play along anyway.

“I can do that. But you haven’t asked about my rates, yet.”

Silva’s gaze returned to the city skyscrapers as they passed by the window. “What are you charging me?”

Chrollo considered. If he named a flat rate, he might miss out on perks, like extra gifts or tips, and Silva was a businessman – it would be best to let him take the lead in any financial negotiations. Being in charge fluffed men’s egos, making them more likely to spend money extravagantly, as a way to demonstrate their financial prowess and reinforce their social status as a powerhouse. It was overcompensation of the most delicious kind. Feitan called it “greencocking”, a bastardization of “peacocking”.

Green for cash, of course.

He decided to force Silva’s hand. “Make me an offer.”

Silva didn’t hesitate with his reply. “Five.”

“Five-hundred thousand?” Chrollo repeated dubiously. That would be well over what he made with clients in the past, and if he could set up a semi-permanent arrangement with Silva, that would cover the costs of pretty much anything –

Silva scoffed, a dry and humorless sound. “You sell yourself short. I’m offering that, tenfold.”

Chrollo’s mental calculator short-circuited. “Five _million_?”

“Isn’t that what you’re worth?” Silva asked flatly, turning to face him again with a stony gaze, like it was silly for Chrollo to be shocked.

“I –” he paused, thinking. Was he worth five million Jenny? For one night? Would _anyone_ be worth that much? “Is this a sound business investment?” he asked instead, buying time for him to continue mulling it over.

Silva made a disinterested noise. “You tell me. Am I wasting my money?”

Chrollo cursed internally. Silva had seen his play and reversed it, forcing Chrollo to take the lead and stick his neck out to defend himself.

He looked down at his lap. His fingers were shaking, just a little, just enough to reveal how much this was affecting him. Annoyed with his own inability to disguise his feelings, he tucked his hands under his thighs, sitting on them, and stared out the window.

“…no. You’re not,” he finally replied.

“Then it’s a good investment.”

And that was that.    

///

The venue was protected by layers and layers of security. There were at least three different metal detectors in place, and Chrollo was pat down more than once. He fought to keep his face mild when one of the guards’ hands dipped a little too low below his belt.

When they were finally cleared for entry, Chrollo discreetly tugged at Silva’s arm, calling for his attention. “This isn’t just a dinner party, is it?”

Silva’s face revealed nothing, but Chrollo took the silence as an affirmative. He glanced around at some of the guests. Some were, perhaps, physically larger than the typical CEO, with hardened expressions and the sort of unforgiving posture that Chrollo liked to call, “gangster chic”. A few of them looked Chrollo up and down skeptically. They could probably guess why he was here, as many of them had their own eye candy on their arms, but it still set him on edge. There was something predatory about the environment. Like if he didn’t keep his wits about him, he’d be swallowed up by a loan shark, and Silva probably wouldn’t be interested in coming to his rescue. He wasn’t _that_ valuable.

So Chrollo kept his eyes peeled for any signs of deception or manipulation. Some men who greeted him would tug at his wrist gently during the cursory handshake, as if to encourage him to accept them as a new client. Others would ignore him completely and head straight for Silva, whose gruff demeanor wasn’t off-putting to any of the other guests, apparently, because they approached him with smiles and flashy watches.

When he caught a glimpse of a tattoo under the sleeve of one of the men, his suspicions were confirmed. Silva seemed to notice him stiffen, because he stared down his long nose at Chrollo with bemusement.

Chrollo hesitated. He wanted to say something, perhaps berate Silva for bringing him to what was clearly an underground criminal affair, but he also didn’t want to make any waves or draw attention to himself. If he could get out of this alive without anyone thinking he was a threat and planning an assassination, that would be preferable.

Silva must’ve read his mind. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it through security.”

“Are you sure they wouldn’t put a hit on me if I went to the washroom to take a piss?” Chrollo muttered darkly.

“They don’t put hits on escorts. You’re the safest one here. No one knows you, so they have no reason to exert the effort.”

Chrollo guessed that it wouldn’t actually take much effort for these powerhouses to kill him, but he bit his tongue on that issue. “So is this a business meeting, or a party?”

Silva, hands deep in his pockets, nodded at a group of men that passed by. “Both. Similar to the  飲み会 you… interjected yourself into.”

“Drinking and business talk?”

“It’s the only way some of them can stand each other.”

“And you? Will you be drinking much?”

“I will only drink enough to fit in.”

That was semi-relieving. Chrollo didn’t look forward to encounters with drunk clients because they were prone to whiskey-dick and unpleasant dispositions. It could be messy business.

“How professional.”

Silva exchanged greetings with a few more people, shaking hands and asking superficial questions about the state of their affairs. Chrollo smiled politely and introduced himself as Kuro. It was a toned down version of his name, and also served to protect his identity, to some extent. He hadn’t revealed that Chrollo was _actually_ his given name to any of his clients except Hisoka, and they usually assumed it was a false name anyway, so he stayed mostly safe – but in a room full of criminals, he couldn’t be too careful.

“How did you assume the position as CEO of Zoldyck Enterprises?” he asked while they meandered through the clumps of businessmen. “Were you just born into it?”

“It was the family responsibility, and I had no brothers or sisters. The choice was obvious.”

“Do you like it?”

“Whether or not I like it is inconsequential. It simply is.”

“On a nihilistic level, perhaps, but existence is shaped by human experience and interpretation. It’s very consequential.”

“Oh?” Silva regarded him with a gleam in his eye. “In that case, I cannot say that I dislike it, but there are things I would have liked to try at least once, before devoting myself to this.”

“Such as?”

“Perhaps escorting.”

Chrollo gave an incredulous snort. He had to hand it to Silva, he didn’t much look like the joking type, but he seemed to have a real penchant for dry humor. How quaint. They would get along just fine.

“I barely know you and I know you’re too authoritative for escorting. You’d have better luck in financial domination or straight up kink communities.”

Silva glanced down at him, face stern as ever, but Chrollo was beginning to recognize the small details that gave away his mood. He was laughing. In his stoic, non-verbal sort of way. “You have a real mouth on you.”

“And you’ll have this real mouth on you by the end of the night,” Chrollo teased.

The corners of Silva’s mouth turned up an expression Chrollo would classify as smug. “You’re good at word play for someone whose only job is to make incoherent noises.”

Chrollo feigned a gasp and was about to fire off what would have _surely_ been a devastating retort, but a scraggly man with a missing front tooth approached them, leering at Chrollo’s crotch openly.

“Silva, I like your whore. How much for a ride?” His voice grated on Chrollo’s ears. It was scratchy, a perfect match for his wiry beard and beady eyes. Chrollo pointedly ignored the comment, keeping his gaze fixed forward. Beside him, Silva seemed to swell up, irritation filling the air around his body like smoke.

“And your wife? How is she doing, after the Chlamydia scandal?” Silva’s large voice boomed across the crowd. A few heads turned, and some people started whispering, pointing at the man as he shrunk in on himself. He left without a word.

Chrollo watched him go, brows raised. “Did you just make an enemy on my behalf?”

“He was already on the company blacklist of dealers we refuse to service.”

Chrollo didn’t ask what kind of dealers, nor what kind of service Silva was referring to. He was positive he didn’t want to know. Still, it was flattering for his client to stick his neck out for him like that, and he turned to face Silva, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “I’ll pay you back for that later,” he promised.

Silva turned away, but as he moved to greet another acquaintance, Chrollo heard him murmur, “I trust you will.” 

Some time later, a fork clinked against a wine glass, calling them all to the enormous dinner table, set up with ornate silverware and offering a beautiful view of the city. Chrollo followed Silva, taking a seat at his right side.

He didn’t bother listening to the speech that followed. He was more interested in the food, set out in an elaborate design on the main table. As near as he could tell, everything was of the highest caliber, the selection perhaps worth more than three month’s rent at his apartment. A few waiters hovered around the table, carrying wine and champagne, and Chrollo waved one of them over to fill his glass.

The speech ended and everyone started digging in. He filled up his plate with steak and caviar, savoring the way the beef melted in his mouth. It must be Kobe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Silva, watched the way he held himself in the company of his peers, and the way they reacted to him. Near as Chrollo could tell, he was one of the most powerful men in the room, because even though everyone else joked and talked to him casually, they always took a moment before they spoke to choose the right words. He was also remarkably delicate with his food, taking bite-sized portions on his fork and leaning forward just the right amount. Chrollo was impressed.

The man to Silva’s other side caught his eye and nodded in his direction. “Silva, you haven’t introduced me to your guest.”

“Kuro, nice to meet you,” Chrollo bowed a little, unable to shake the man’s hand properly without reaching across Silva’s plate.

“Kuro. What a charming name for a charming man.”

“You flatter me.”

“Silva, I didn’t think you were the type,” the man went on.

“The type?” Silva repeated, not deigning to look up from his meal.

“The type to enjoy such beautiful company.”

Chrollo winced preemptively. He didn’t get the vibe that that was the right thing to say. Sure enough, his client’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Silva set down his wine glass a little harder than was absolutely necessary. Sensing danger, Chrollo jumped in to play referee. “Silva is the type to enjoy all of life’s beauties. I am only one of the things he spends time on.”

The implication of a deeper relationship sat heavy in the air, and the man smiled tightly before turning away to join a discussion with another group.

“Expect a phone call from him.” Silva said dryly.

“Sorry?”

“He never asks about anyone’s guests unless he’s personally interested.”

Chrollo smirked. “Are you scared he’ll whisk me away before you get a taste?”

“Scared is _far_ from the right word.”

Chrollo conceded the point, but the familiar feeling of triumph sang in his veins. On some level, Silva was protective of him already, which was an incredibly good sign, going forward. He had been starting to wonder how interested in him Silva really was; there were a lot of hot and cold signals to keep track of, and it was rather frustrating.

Deciding to test this new discovery, Chrollo sank down in his seat a fraction and bumped his knee against Silva’s. It was a gentle gesture, and could’ve easily been an accident, but Silva paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and his blue eyes focused on Chrollo for a moment. He smiled innocently, moving his foot forward a little to brush against Silva’s pants, the patent leather gliding along his leg silently. Silva’s eyes narrowed. Chrollo raised his eyebrows a little, daring him to say something and draw attention to the elaborate game of footsie that was going on.

To Silva’s credit, he stayed silent, but his movements became short and clipped. Chrollo twirled a fork in his hand absently. How far could he push his client? Moreover, what kinds of things got under Silva’s skin? His skin must be made of diamond to run such a notorious company, but every man had a vice, and Chrollo had a sneaking suspicion that Silva’s might just be kinky. He seemed like that type of person. After so many years in the business, Chrollo had a sixth sense for these types of things.

He opened his mouth to start a new round of banter, but a waiter leaned in front of him, replacing the dinner platters with a variety of desserts. He recognized most of them – fruit tarts, macaroons, tiramisu, éclairs, crepes, and something that looked like truffle torte. That were just the first round, however, and as the waiters kept swooping by, they brought with them more options, until the table was groaning under the weight of an impossibly wide selection. Chrollo licked his lips.

It was like going to a bakery, except it was free, and Feitan wasn’t here to chastise him for ruining his figure on sweets. Someone at the end of the table announced that the meeting would be drawing to a close soon, but that everyone was welcome to stay for an off-hours get-together. Chrollo tuned the speech out, instead grabbing a spoonful of chocolate pudding.

It was sublime. He scarfed it down, and hesitantly reached for another one, checking to make sure no one was counting how many helpings he took. Only Silva seemed to notice, and to Chrollo’s delight, he reached across the table with his ridiculously long arms to snag another plate of the pudding for him.  

After the fourth helping, he stopped, reminding himself that he would have to perform the exercise equivalent of a half-hour on an elliptical machine. At least, if Silva lasted that long. But the rugged man’s exterior didn’t give him any reason to doubt that. When he thought of the payout he was getting, Chrollo felt a little lightheaded, and he pushed his plate away from himself with finality. He was going to _earn_ that compensation.

He shot Silva a significant look and licked his fork clean with one exaggerated stroke, maintaining eye contact. Silva took a sip of wine, slowly, almost cautiously, like he was afraid Chrollo might cause a scene. Chrollo smirked, and feigned a tiny gasp of surprise when he dropped the fork on the floor between them. Its clatter was inaudible in all the buzz of conversation.

Silva glared at him, moving to pick it up, but Chrollo beat him to it, sliding under the dining table in one smooth motion, like a black panther moving through the grass towards its prey. He glanced down the long line of shoes and legs for anything interesting. Someone a few seats down was wearing an obnoxiously glittery pair of dress shoes, which was interesting, but not as interesting as the prize right in front of him.

Silva’s pants were silky smooth, and his legs were spread in the traditional “man in power” position. Chrollo leaned forward just a smidge, ghosting his fingers up Silva’s shins and resting them on his knees, and let his breath ghost across the inseam, where he knew the cold zipper of Silva’s pants to be. Silva’s leg jerked and almost kicked him in the side, but he held it down with a steady hand, nosing closer to his target. He glanced up at Silva’s face, now visibly furious, and licked his lips slowly. It was a small gesture, enough to remind Silva what the night would eventually bring, and he felt a deep sense of satisfaction when he saw Silva’s jaw tighten. He looked positively _livid_. How delightful.

Chrollo was out from under the table before anyone noticed he was gone. He raised his glass, clinking it with Silva’s. “Surprised?”

“That, also, is not quite the correct word.” Silva growled. “Be careful. You’re on a losing streak.”

“I’ve never had a losing streak in my life.” Chrollo finished off his drink. There was _just_ enough alcohol in his system to make him bubbly, and he could already feel himself loosening up and letting go of some of life’s sillier inhibitions.

“You mean you didn’t lose something important before you became an escort?” Silva asked.

It was a remarkably serious question, and Chrollo fixed him with a perplexed stare, not bothering to conceal his confusion. “I like money. Escorting pays the bills, and more. That’s all that matters.”

He wasn’t lying, not really; though there had been plenty of loss prior to his career change, he didn’t dwell on it, nor did he regret the direction his life had taken. How else would he have met Feitan and Phinks? Even Hisoka and Illumi were an indirect result of his choices. Chrollo, of course, knew sex workers who had been violently forced into it, and he knew people who simply didn’t have any other financial options, but for him, it had just worked out to his benefit, and he saw no reason to stop.

Silva looked down at him, obviously mulling something over. “If you’re eaten your fill, we can leave.” Chrollo gave the extra servings of pudding one last sidelong glance before he agreed. It was probably for the best.


	3. Chapter 3

Silva’s driver was on the curb waiting for them already.  Silva made a vague hand gesture, but the driver nodded in understanding, rolling up the car’s partition and taking off towards the south of town. Chrollo guessed that was the direction of Silva’s estate. Chrollo had no sooner acknowledged the Zoldyck Enterprises insignia on the surface of the partition than strong hands gripped his chin, roughly pulling his attention to Silva’s furious gaze.

“You could’ve gotten caught,” his voice, deep and gravely, betrayed no hint of approval. Chrollo was a little disappointed.

“But I didn’t,” he gave a small shrug, not trying to pry his jaw out of Silva’s grasp but leaning into the touch instead. “…and you enjoyed it.”

Silva’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his thumb, larger than anyone’s thumb _should_ be, against the pillow of Chrollo’s lips, effectively silencing him. “You took a big risk. If you were an employee, I would’ve fired you for being so reckless.”

Chrollo supposed he would’ve been more than fired, were he in Silva’s professional employ, but he waited for the inevitable “but”.

It didn’t come. Instead, his thumb snaked its way past Chrollo’s lips and brushed against his teeth, the demand silent but crystal clear. Chrollo obliged and opened his mouth, the salty taste of skin quick on his tongue, and when Silva’s eyebrows twitched expectantly, he sucked a little, swirling his tongue around Silva’s thumb. Silva moved his hand away, wiping it off on the side of Chrollo’s mouth. His height meant that he was constantly looking down at Chrollo, eyes half-lidded, either with arousal or some trigonometric rule about angles that Chrollo couldn’t think of at the moment.

“You didn’t provide a list of services.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Chrollo said, trying not to laugh or flinch away as Silva’s fingers trailed down his neck. It tickled a little.

“If you hadn’t showed me exhibitionism was an interest of yours, I might not have asked. But as you’ve exposed yourself,” Silva’s fingers hooked under Chrollo’s shirt collar, tugging it away from his collarbone. He probably could’ve torn the whole thing open if he’d wanted to. Chrollo was grateful that he hadn’t – it was one of his favorite shirts – but he also knew Silva could buy him twenty more, and a new pair of slacks to go with them.

Chrollo bit the inside of his cheek while he considered his answer. The short version was that he could acquiesce to almost anything for the right price, but maybe that’s not what Silva wanted to hear. Chrollo decided on discussing the things he thought Silva might be interested in, and that he himself would enjoy.

“Choking, boot worship, toys, feathers or sensation play, flogging, master-slave dynamics, roleplaying.” He thought back to his experience with Hisoka, begrudgingly adding, “And maybe orgasm denial.”

“Hard limits?”

Chrollo blinked. That was a straight-up BDSM term. “Scat, golden showers, cock and ball torture, whips.”

Silva seemed satisfied, and he popped the first button of Chrollo’s shirt open, icy eyes finally breaking their staring contest and eating up the patch of pale skin he’d just revealed. He thought about asking Silva for _his_ list of interests, but Silva turned away again, his mess of hair hiding his face. Chrollo huffed impatiently and buttoned his shirt back up again. He’d been almost certain they would’ve had a pre-fuck foreplay session in the limo. That would’ve been fun.

A while later, Silva spoke again, and Chrollo looked up from his phone. “We’re here.”

He glanced out the window, and his jaw went slack.

He’d expected it to be a mansion, and it was, but what he _hadn’t_ expected was its location – perched atop a mountain, surrounded by enormous brick walls, like a moat. As they drew closer, the view of the mansion was obscured by the walls, and the car pulled up outside the monstrous entrance gates. Chrollo craned his neck to look up at the top of the gate, adorned with gargoyles and some Latin inscriptions that he couldn’t read. There was a heavy scraping noise, and the gates began to open, much to Chrollo’s surprise. Silva must have a remote in his pocket. The car continued through the gates and up into the mountain’s foliage. He thought he heard the distant sound of a dog barking, but it could’ve easily been the wind.

“…the mountain. It’s… it’s yours, as well?” he asked, voice cracking a little as the sprawling estate unfolded in front of him.

“Yes.” A lesser man might have been smug, but Silva didn’t seem boastful in the slightest. “You’re shocked.”

“I… didn’t realize you were worth a whole mountain,” Chrollo frowned, gaze flickering between his client and the scenery outside.

They pulled up in a spacious courtyard. The driver was out before Chrollo could unbuckle his seatbelt, and he politely held the door open for them, tipping his hat while they exited. Another tip of the hat later and he was driving off again, heading for what was presumably a detached garage. Chrollo couldn’t quite tell. There were too many buildings to keep track of.

“I’m disappointed, Lucifer. You seemed like you were so good at screening your clientele. Surely, this sort of thing would’ve come up in your research,” Silva gave him a half-smile, and Chrollo rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t like he _hadn’t_ done the usual background checkups, but nothing had indicated an address or state of real estate affairs. Admittedly, he hadn’t extended the effort to look for those things specifically, but why bother? If something went wrong and Phinks had to send out a search party, Silva Zoldyck wouldn’t exactly be difficult for the police to find.

Barring the fact that Silva might actually own a portion of the police force in York New, of course.

He followed Silva up the front steps, hands in his pockets to keep them from twitching. The hedges were trimmed perfectly, and expensive statues adorned the lawn of the courtyard. There was a beautiful fountain in the center that filled the air with the comforting sound of water. The steps looked like marble, and he counted them absently in his mind while they walked.

When he hit 28, they stopped on the entranceway landing, and Chrollo was faced with a tall set of French doors, surrounded by stained glass.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Chrollo asked, pointing to the glass.

“It’s bullet-proof.” Silva began the lengthy process of unlocking the front door, which used both a traditional key and a hidden number pad that looked like it was also scanning Silva’s thumbprint.

“Naturally,” Chrollo said, tone higher-pitched than normal.

The hallway was regal. Two sets of spiraling staircases led to a second level, and between them, Chrollo could see an elaborately decorated parlor, complete with fireplace and furniture that blurred the line between Victorian and modern. There was a statue centerpiece that he would guess cost upwards of 1,000,000,000 Jenny, if it was an original. It probably was.

His hands felt sweaty in his pockets.

Chrollo paused at the entrance. “Would you like me to take my shoes off?”

“Not necessary.” Silva looked at him with bemusement. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.” His reply didn’t sound convincing, not even to his own ears, but Silva didn’t comment, instead beckoning him up one of the spiral staircases.

“This way.”

Chrollo followed him up the stairs, not sure where to look or what to focus on. The beautiful – and no doubt also original – paintings adorning the walls? The – probably real – gold trim on the staircase banister? The view of the gigantic courtyard and garden out back? He almost tripped on his way up, staring at the vaulted ceilings, which were covered in intricate murals and wood detailing.

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, finally reigning in his attention to Silva’s broad back as they kept going.

“My son lives in the west wing, and the butlers have their own quarters, but for the most part, yes, I am undisturbed.”

Chrollo’s skin was hot. His overworked senses were drowning him, and it was becoming difficult to think of anything besides filling up a bathtub full of cash and bathing in it. He wondered vaguely if Silva might indulge him in that particular fantasy, if he asked.

They reached a landing, and Chrollo immediately recognized the rug as a one-of-a-kind Persian knotted piece. The lowest these sold for on the current market was in the 5,000,000 Jenny range, he was sure of it. He immediately regretted not taking off his shoes, if only so he could feel the spectacular craftsmanship under his feet. Silva continued on like this was nothing, and he finally opened another set of double doors, into what Chrollo assumed was the master bedroom.

And it _was_ masterful.

A four-poster bed, chandelier hanging from the ceiling, thick draperies across a wide set of windows, and the usual television setup Chrollo had come to associate with wealthy men. Silva clearly had a taste for the elaborate, because there wasn’t a touch of modern sleekness anywhere in the room, except for perhaps the ceiling and doorway into the bathroom. The rest was all furniture that appeared antique, to the untrained eye, and perhaps Victorian, like some of the décor downstairs.

Chrollo stood rooted to the spot, unable to move while he took it all in. Silva shut the doors behind them and he heard a lock click – presumably to keep butlers and his son out. Was his son here? That was sort of distressing.

Not to be deterred, he approached the bed anyway, running his hand across the silk sheets, stomach jolting with arousal. It was like touching something sacred – something woven by God’s hands and gifted to him for the divine purpose of being fucked against.

The anxiety in his stomach settled. Now they were in his element: he had every reason to be calm, collected, and confident. Silva might own half the city, but Chrollo owned his bedroom. Or he would soon, anyway.

“What are you smiling about?” Silva asked from the other side of the room.

He hadn’t realized he’d been smiling, but didn’t bother to cover it up, and he winked at Silva. “Just admiring my throne.”

Silva grunted, retrieving a bottle of wine from a cabinet on the other side of the room and he poured them each a substantial glass. Chrollo’s heart fluttered when he caught a glimpse of the label: Sauvignon, at least fifty years old, and worth a small fortune.

“It’s not Le Pin, but I’m sure it will suffice,” Silva said, the ghost of a joke in his tone. Chrollo accepted the drink and took a delicate sip.

“I suppose it’ll do,” he made an exaggerated sigh, moving to make himself comfortable on the bed, patting the space next to him. “Why don’t you sit down? You must be tired.”

Silva stared at him, still holding the wine bottle, and Chrollo extended his hand in a come-hither gesture, beckoning until Silva obliged and slid into bed next to him. He smelled like Dior Homme. Chrollo licked his lips, raising his glass for a small toast.

“To the start of a mutually beneficial relationship,” he said cheerfully.

“You must be quite self-assured, to think that I’ll rehire you.” Silva replied, clinking his glass against Chrollo’s and setting the bottle down on the side table.

“You will.” Chrollo took another drink, letting all his muscles relax. The bed was soft and inviting, but as he eyed Silva’s lap and the silky dress pants that covered his prize, he found its siren call much more tempting. Taking care not to spill any wine, he swung a leg over Silva’s hips, straddling him. Even in this position, he had to look up to meet Silva’s eyes, now narrowed with skepticism.

“Arrogance in an escort. How quaint.”

He took Silva’s tie in hand, pulling it gently so that their foreheads were almost touching, and he fluttered his eyelashes.

“It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” 

Silva snorted, looking down at him expectantly. The soft lighting in the room made him seem much younger. Chrollo admired his client’s jutting cheekbones before pressing his hands flush against his chest, feeling out what he would be working with. He was by no means disappointed. Silva leaned back against the headboard, letting Chrollo amuse himself with the fine fabric of his shirt.

He was just about to get to the buttons (which looked like they were made with some type of rare opal) when he felt a hand on his thigh, the tight grip a wonderful reminder of how much Silva must work out, because he was incredibly strong. Silva’s other hand grabbed his wrist, directing him to the zipper of his pants.

“You’re so straightforward. Doesn’t that get boring?” Chrollo purred, wrapping a section of Silva’s hair around his finger. “Let me spoil you, first.”

It was a risk – impatient clients didn’t like to be kept waiting – but he felt like some added foreplay would do them both some good.

Chrollo sat back, making sure the weight of his body rubbed against the bulge in Silva’s pants, and began to work open the buttons on his own shirt with one hand. He knew how good his skin looked, how soft and supple and pale, and in this lighting, with these colors – he was impressed his client wasn’t sweating in his seat already. Most men would be.

He noticed how Silva’s eyes widened a fraction when the straps to his lingerie became visible. This, too, was a risk, because he hadn’t asked Silva about it beforehand, but he felt the appreciation from his seat on Silva’s lap, and knew he’d made the right decision. He discarded his shirt, maneuvering around so he could slip his slacks off as well, and when he was positive he had Silva’s undivided attention, he stretched languidly, the fabric of the lingerie tight against his skin and sinfully transparent. Silva’s lips were in a tight line.

Making sure to maintain eye contact, Chrollo dipped down, pressing his hand against the bulge in Silva’s pants. His mouth watered with anticipation while he unzipped the dress pants, slipping his fingers past the silky fabric and brushing up against Silva’s half-hard length. Even his underwear were name brand. The intoxicating smell of Dior cologne was pleasant and present, this close to Silva’s body, and he silently appreciated his client’s exquisite taste. Chrollo traced his fingertips down the shaft and untucked Silva’s cock, so he could see it clearly, in all its glory.

He swallowed. Perhaps not as large as Hisoka’s – truly, that would be something of a miracle, if it were – but by no means small. Silva’s giant mane of hair grazed the back of Chrollo’s neck as he pressed his tongue against the tip.

This part was always the same. No matter the client or how much he was getting paid, the foreplay, the blowjobs, the fucking, the taste of semen filling his mouth (with Hisoka as the curious exception), and the men lying in bed like sacks of potatoes after their mind-blowing orgasms – it was all the same. So when he deep-throated Silva’s cock in one go, holding his breath and making a tiny choking noise for show, he wasn’t phased in the slightest, but Silva jerked with surprise.  

Chrollo made a pleased hum in the back of his throat and paused for a moment, glancing up at Silva wickedly before taking him in again, relishing the familiar feeling of a cock hardening in his mouth. Silva even _tasted_ rich: clean and fresh and tinted with cologne. Simply sublime. He arched his back while he worked, ass in the air, barely hidden under the delicate lingerie, and he thought he heard a small groan of appreciation rumbling in Silva’s chest, but the noise was gone in a second.

A heavy hand on the back of his head encouraged him and he went on auto-pilot, letting Silva direct him for a while. When Silva’s fingers tightened in his hair, he sucked harder, and when they relaxed, he slowed down, committing the patterns to memory for future use, in case Silva’s hands found themselves handcuffed to the bedposts and Chrollo had to figure it out himself.

It took only a few more seconds before Silva’s dick was throbbing and ready, and Chrollo concluded that he was a grower, because it seemed an inch longer than when he’d started. Looking up through his eyelashes, Chrollo placed a teasing kiss on the tip of Silva’s cock, letting a line of spit linger as he pulled away.

Silva’s hand grazed his cheek in a haphazard caress on its way to grab Chrollo’s chin, pulling him upward so he was face-to-face with his client. Nothing in Silva’s expression was out of the ordinary – he didn’t look like a man on the brink of sexual ecstasy, which was rather disappointing, but his eyes were noticeably darker now, and Chrollo decided to settle for what he could get. Silva was an impossibly tough nut to crack.

A thumb swept across Chrollo’s lips. He let his tongue dart out to taste it, shifting so that he was seated in Silva’s lap again, Silva’s cock pressing up against his ass. Chrollo leaned back just a touch, enough so that Silva had a good view of his entire body in all its glory, and rolled his hips. He moved slowly, grinding his weight down and making a show of the pseudo-lap dance. His own cock, constrained by the lingerie but not at all hidden, twitched with excitement as his hands clutched the silken sheets.

Silva’s eyes roamed over him but he didn’t touch, just watching, perhaps taking Chrollo up on his offer to be spoilt. He was paying a handsome sum for this, after all. Why pay to do the work when Chrollo was so willing to gift it to him?

Actually, Silva was almost paying him too much. It was beyond anything Chrollo had expected to receive. The numbers flashed across his mind, and he imagined what five million Jenny would feel like in his palm, its weight, the crispness of the bills, warm and fresh from the ATM, enough of them to cover his bed in cash and roll around in it, get fucked in it, sleep in it –

The flush on his face was burning under his foundation and he was grateful for the extra layer of concealer he’d added earlier in the day. This would’ve been embarrassing, otherwise. Silva’s attention was still occupied by his undulating hips, as intended, but Chrollo was ready to get paid, and he pressed forward, dragging his fingers over Silva’s shirt buttons, to finish what he’d started earlier. Silva didn’t protest and the shirt fell open.

Chrollo had to suppress a whistle of admiration, because Silva’s body was like a sculpture, carved out of solid muscle. There was no sign of his age anywhere on his skin, not in color nor in texture, and Chrollo was suddenly invigorated. He would enjoy this for more than the money.

He never left marks on a client unless they gave the okay – it was a hazard of paranoid men, terrified of their wives discovering their unfaithfulness. Silva had never explicitly said whether he had a wife or not, but he had a son, and if his son saw him with red marks on his chest or bruises on his neck sans explanation, things might get complicated. So as much as Chrollo wanted to dig his nails into the tempting skin in front of him, he abstained.

Silva’s hands were on his thighs again and Chrollo fluttered his lashes, leaning forward to graze his teeth against Silva’s lip. There was a frightening second where he was scared he had broken some unspoken rule, because Silva didn’t move, but the fear dissipated when Silva thrust up against him in agitation, parting his lips for a deep kiss. Chrollo’s fingers tangled into the mess of Silva’s hair, which was surprisingly soft, and he spread his thighs a little more, sinking further down onto the heat of Silva’s lap.

The fabric of Silva’s pants on his thighs, the smooth sheets, the smell of expensive perfume, and the pressure of an eager cock under him – it all swirled together in a delicious mixture of pleasure that prickled up his spine. He let out a soft moan into Silva’s mouth, and the grip on his thighs tightened.

He broke the kiss, glad that his fingers were still lost in the mane of blonde hair, because they were starting to quiver with excitement. “Condoms?”

Silva glanced at his bedside table, a small frown on his face for the interruption, and Chrollo made sure to apologize with a quick stroke at Silva’s cock while he opened for the drawer, grabbing a small bottle of lubricant and a pack of condoms and checking the expiration date on both.

He put a condom between his teeth to hold it and reached around to work at the clasp of his lingerie, fully intending on tossing it aside for what would surely be a messy night, but Silva grabbed his wrists, stopping him.

“Leave it on,” Silva growled. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Chrollo’s stomach twisted into elated knots. Cash was his favorite incentive, but gifts ran a close second, and he was now determined to make Silva’s night unforgettable. He crawled off Silva’s lap, resting his weight on his elbows and knees with his ass in the air and popping open the lubricant to pour it generously on his fingers. He didn’t wait for Silva to say anything or make an offer. With one hand, he pulled the lingerie to the side, giving him enough access to press his fingers against his entrance, slicking it up for Silva’s viewing pleasure.

He started with two fingers, scissoring roughly, not in a patient mood. He’d already done some preparation earlier in the day to save time. It paid off, because soon he was up to three fingers, and though the angle wasn’t the best and his fingers couldn’t quite reach his prostate, he let out shaky breaths nonetheless.

He looked at his client over his shoulder. Silva was watching him with rapt attention, hand on his cock, thumb idly stroking it, and though he didn’t seem like he was in a hurry, Chrollo could see the tenseness in his jaw.

He’d probably made Silva wait long enough.

Chrollo removed his fingers and dragged them over his ass, pulling the cheeks apart and leaving a trail of lubricant on his pale skin. A vein in Silva’s neck ticked. He smiled to himself, turning around and tearing open the condom wrapper. Silva was still wearing his dress pants, but he didn’t mind – the fabric on his thighs felt better than skin ever could. He rolled the condom on and was seated on Silva’s lap again in a flash, and the ache in his cock became harder to ignore as he was again submerged in the faint scent of Dior cologne.

The condom was lubricated, and as he rubbed against it, it felt sufficiently slippery to be safe. Satisfied that all the prerequisites had been met, Chrollo raised himself up enough to grab Silva’s cock and position it, pressing the tip inside with the weight of his body. The rest was easy. Silva was fully sheathed within seconds, and Chrollo wasted no time, rocking his hips to test the waters with his hands on Silva’s chest.

Silva gave a grunt of appreciation, his hands back on Chrollo’s thighs. He must be a leg man. His gaze, stone cold as always, was fixed on Chrollo’s hips as he moved, the lingerie tight on his skin and emphasizing the muscles he worked hard to maintain. Well, if Silva wanted to enjoy him without lifting a finger, he would happily oblige.

Chrollo made a pleased groan deep in his throat, leaning back and bracing a hand on Silva’s knee, using the other to tease himself through the black lace of his playsuit. He bit his own lip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parted just enough for breathy moans to escape with every movement. By now, most men were trembling in their beds, petting him and cooing at him or cumming without any further provocation. Silva’s expression, however, was indecipherable, and he was certainly not tripping over himself to compliment Chrollo for his proficiency.

That was new.

Chrollo was trying to decide if he found this annoying or refreshing when Silva actually thrust up into him for the first time, and he let out a small gasp. He’d been almost sure this would be a one-man show. Another thrust, in a different way, this time, had Chrollo hissing softly. Silva’s cock was big enough to stretch him and make him feel pleasantly full. It was rubbing him in all the right ways, and as he looked at his client through half-lidded eyes, he could tell Silva knew.

Silva’s fingers dug into his thighs, pulling him down and impaling Chrollo on his cock, harder than before, and Chrollo keened, a languid moan slipping past his lips. He let Silva take charge, riding as smoothly as he could, making lewd noises every time something felt particularly delicious.

Silva glared at him, releasing his thighs to grab his chin, thumb pressed against Chrollo’s panting tongue.

“You’re too loud,” was all he said.

Chrollo was about to retort that none of his other clients had a problem with his vocal performance, but in the blink of an eye, he was on his hands and knees, Silva’s bulky figure looming behind him, his fingers forcing their way into Chrollo’s mouth. He made a muffled noise of surprise as his legs were spread and Silva rammed into him, his free hand holding Chrollo’s hips hard enough to leave bruises.

The pressure in Chrollo’s stomach started to build, gaining momentum every time Silva’s cock thrust into him. The tip of his own cock rubbed against a stray pillow underneath him, dragging precum across the pillowcase and Chrollo trembled a little, moaning softly around Silva’s fingers. Silva’s hair grazed his shoulders, soft and luxurious, and the smooth, taut fabric of his pants against Chrollo’s ass made the tension in his body all the more irresistible.

Silva’s fingers disappeared, bringing with them a thick string of saliva that dripped onto the sheets, but Chrollo didn’t have time to make a disgusted face, because a ball of something soft and leafy was shoved into his mouth. It muffled his voice and reminded him of cotton balls at a dentist’s office. Still, something about it was familiar, crisp and fresh and almost like buying a new car or trying on brand new clothes –

All the muscles in his body tightened up instinctively, his hands gripping the bedsheets so hard it hurt, and his eyes squeezed shut. His arms gave out and he collapsed onto his stomach, the silky fabric dragging against his entire body and leaving goosebumps on his skin, and he knew he’d ruined at least part of the bedding with his cum, but Silva wasn’t done yet, and his ass was hauled back into the air by strong hands while Silva continued. Chrollo was past making noises, at this point, just gulping in air like a drowning man on the verge of death. His mouth felt grainy, the cash inside having started to disintegrate and tear, but he didn’t dare spit it out, not while Silva was still using his body. No, the show must go on.

Chrollo tried to push himself back up but his arms felt like jelly. He couldn’t muster the energy to make it happen. He craned his neck to look at Silva instead, gasping weakly every time Silva hit his prostate, and saw with some satisfaction that Silva’s chest was just now developing a sheen of sweat. His face was completely unreadable, as usual, but his thrusts were getting more arrhythmic, and Chrollo could tell he wouldn’t be much longer.

Vision still a little bit hazy, Chrollo smiled, talking around the cash in his mouth. “Come on, sugar daddy, give me all you’ve got.”

Silva’s gaze flicked up from Chrollo’s ass to meet his eyes, and he frowned for a millisecond, barely long enough for it to be called an expression, but his high cheekbones flushed, and were Chrollo in a state to laugh, he would’ve. The great Silva Zoldyck, brought down a peg by a daddy kink.

The noise Silva made was deep in his throat, and Chrollo had to admit, it was attractive – hyper-masculine and reeking of self-discipline, both qualities he could appreciate. Silva lingered for only a few seconds more before pulling out, leaving Chrollo feeling raw and decidedly spent, and he rested his face on a pillow.

Silva disappeared for a moment, coming back sans condom and with a small white handkerchief in hand. “Here.”

Chrollo let the wad of cash fall out of his mouth. Though it was soggy with saliva, he could make out 100,000 on the corner of one of the papers, and he nearly came again on principle, but his body was too exhausted. He probably looked like a mess – his lips felt swollen, there was a blush on his cheeks, and the redness on his thighs and ass from being manhandled would bloom into a nice set of bruises soon.

Silva, for his part, didn’t look visibly affected. The only signs of their excitement were the pinkness at the tip of his cock and the flyaways in his mane of hair. Chrollo was a little jealous. 

He laid in bed for a few minutes, simply resting, while Silva took a shower. He would have to take one himself, later, but he had a funny feeling they weren’t quite done yet, so he held off for a while.

There was a large bookcase next to the television set, and Chrollo wandered over to peruse the titles, skimming the spines with his finger. Silva had quite a collection: everything from old texts like Plato and Aristotle to some newer, and surprisingly whimsical, works by Anne Carson and Patricia Lockwood.

Behind him, the bathroom door clicked open, signaling Silva’s return.

“You like poetry?” Chrollo asked in disbelief, picking out one of the books and glancing at the back cover.

“Among other things.”

Chrollo was _very_ aware of the tent in Silva’s towel, but he felt like teasing his client just a tad longer, just to see what would come of it. Also, he was still rather tired. “I didn’t like _Red Doc >_ as much as the original.”

Silva leaned against the end of the bookcase, watching him. “Because it was less narrative? Or because you’re only attracted to _youthful_ romantic exploits?”

Chrollo laughed and put the book back in its place. “As an escort, I have no say in how youthful my romantic exploits are. So it hardly matters in fiction.”

“You have _some_ say.”

“Sure. But not enough to rule out greasy manipulators, if I’m short on rent,” Chrollo said.

“Your clients don’t tip you enough?”

“Not enough to last a month’s worth of expenses.”

“And what are your expenses?” Silva prompted.

“Sometimes as much as 1,500,000 Jenny, monthly.” Seeing the puzzled look on Silva’s face, Chrollo continued, a tad bitter. “That might not sound like much to you, but it packs a punch.”

“You haven’t specified how you would like your payment.” Silva said, returning to the bed and resting his back against the headboard.

“You know, in all the excitement, I’d forgotten about it entirely.” Chrollo joked. “I prefer cash. Gifts of equal or higher value are also appreciated.”

“Gifts? What could someone as multi-faceted and intelligent as yourself possibly require of material goods?” Silva’s voice was thick with sarcasm, and Chrollo found himself surprised that he was so willing to toss jokes around, when he _looked_ like he’d never found anything funny in his life.

“Flattery won’t buy you another blowjob,” Chrollo said, delighting in the way Silva’s eyes darkened. Casting spells on rich men was one of his favorite parts of the job. “But Juicy Couture or Calvin Klein might.”

“Neither of those are high quality. You would be better off with something like Tom Ford. Givenchy. Dior.”

At the end of the day, Silva was just another source of income, though he was perhaps the richest and most reliable client Chrollo had ever landed – but it didn’t hurt that Chrollo could actually tolerate his personality. Liked it, even. He took a moment to admire Silva’s muscular chest. His client’s looks weren’t anything to scoff at, either. Most importantly, Silva knew luxury and he was willing to share, and that generosity was worth its weight in gold.

Chrollo smiled. “You read my mind.”

///

After another several rounds, Silva had ended their escapade, citing preparations for an upcoming business trip. Chrollo had rubbed the wad of cash in his pocket the entire way home.

“Phinks, Feitan, I’m back, and you’ll never guess what –” Chrollo stopped in the doorway and his roommates froze, deer caught in the headlights under his gaze. They were sheepishly holding the wrapping paper to a set of black boxes and tissue paper was littered around them.

“Sorry, boss, it just got here and – well, we were curious –” Phinks began, hurriedly stuffing the paper back into its place and trying to repair the damage to the box.

“What just got here?” Chrollo asked, setting his things down on a coffee table and approaching them.

Phinks and Feitan backed up, letting him take a closer look. The wrapping paper crinkled in protest as he ripped through it, and he let out a strangled groan as it revealed a fine sheet of denim. His fingertips prickled when he pulled out a beautiful pair of Tom Ford jeans, dark wash and skinny, and a cursory glance revealed a note about getting them tailored – but he didn’t have time to read it, because Feitan shoved another box into his hand. He popped it open to discover a pair of Tom Ford sunglasses, and when Phinks gave him the final box, he thought he might suffer heart failure. It held a black blazer, Givenchy, and a matching dress shirt, with small silver zipper decorations for added flair.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Phinks demanded, water was brimming in his eyes. Feitan was trying on the sunglasses and striking modelesque poses.

“…my new regular.” Chrollo choked out, working feverishly to unzip his pants with shaking hands so he could try on the jeans.

“You’re shitting me. Silva Zoldyck is gonna sponsor you?” Phinks’ eyebrowless face was comically shocked, his large eyes wide and unblinking.

Halfway through shimmying his pants off, Chrollo picked out an envelope from the rubble of tissue paper, unsealing it carefully. Inside was a small, square note, and the shiny plastic of a credit card grazed his fingers.

No one moved, spoke, nor breathed. Chrollo could actually feel his own pulse in the stillness of their apartment. His name, Chrollo Lucifer, was engraved on the card in stark golden letters, and the Zoldyck Enterprises insignia was bright and visible on the card’s corner.

Feitan was the first to react. It was a strange humming noise in the back of his throat that built up into something of a screech, and he clutched Phinks’ shirt with his pale fingers, shaking him back and forth while they both shouted.

Chrollo brushed his thumb over the credit card numbers and took a moment to read the note.

_C,_

_For our next business meeting. Wednesday the 26 th, 7pm. A car will pick you up. Find some matching shoes – and take care of any other “expenses” at your leisure. _

_-S_

Looking back up at his roommates, Chrollo managed to whisper a few choice words before the night derailed into debauchery and expensive alcohols.

“…I told you I’d get us a new apartment and a butler.”


End file.
